This is a blog about depression. If you are easily offended or take offence to my very sarcastic humour, please do not read any further. Mental illness is not a joke; it is not something to point fun at and I fully understand that. BUT…when the going gets tough, sarcasm and humour is my defence and so I will be parading it around all over this blog.
If you need help, please get it. Whilst I hope this has a happy ending, I don’t know yet and given I’ve not been able to fix myself, I really don’t want others using this as a ‘How To Be Happy for Beginners v2.0’
Let’s cut right to the chase. The weekend doesn’t go well. In fact, this may be a contender for the shortest, most boring-est entry ever. Saturday takes on a great form of pjs, chocolate, biscuits, chocolate, sofa, Sudoku, nap and reading. Genuinely, that’s my Saturday summed up. It’s a beautiful sunny day as I am inside, hiding, with the blinds down, watching the world carry on its oh so perfect life whilst I am held hostage in the flat. Thankfully my fur balls keep me company and it means that when I am talking aloud, at least I can pretend it’s them I’m talking too, rather than completely losing the plot. I don’t think one single productive thing gets done today other than fighting back tears and feeling really rather low. Just to top off my rock n’ roll weekend, I do a bit of colouring before heading to bed. Go me!
Can today be any better? At 11:00 there is a mental health mates walk in East London. The lady who organises it has been so lovely to me over the last month. She’s stayed in touch and offered up her support. I want to go today to firstly thank her but secondly support the initiative. It’s not going to happen though. I can tell. I want to hide under the duvet and cry so leaving the house to meet some strangers is highly unlikely. I text my apologies but hope I can meet her for coffee another time. Also, she has connections to the ice cream industry, this is seriously a lady I need in my life this summer!
Sunday continues along the lines of Saturday. In fact, I may as well copy and paste from the above. At 17:00 I get a random burst of ‘F*#k you Depression’ energy. I am not sure where it’s come from, I don’t know why it couldn’t appear at 10:00 this morning, but, whatever, I am going to grab it by the balls. Or, at least, think about grabbing it by the balls. I do some general tidying up and I am seriously considering going for a walk and then breaking the invisible barrier of the gym. Can I? No, yes, maybe. It takes another hour but I’ve psyched myself up enough to be pulling (and pushing, and tugging and many other ways of manipulating) my body into a swimsuit. Yes, you’ve read right. I am going to leave the flat, voluntarily, and go for a swim. I’ve not been swimming since early February about 4 days before I was admitted to hospital. I love swimming so to get it back in my life would be great. I head out the door and 5 minutes into the 25-minute walk to the pool, I realise I don’t have a padlock. Great. Is this the universe telling me to get back inside and hide? I head back to the flat and grab one. I am going to do this, but please universe, don’t let me see anyone I know. I’m sporting some very greasy hair, teeth that I think may be growing fur and I’ve just realised, as approaching the gym, whilst I’ve remembered pants, I’ve not remembered a bra for when I get out the pool. Bugger. I thought I’d been so clever getting into my swimsuit at home. Hahaha, look at me, the organised one. Turns out that cocky attitude is getting me nowhere.
Bra or no bra, I am here so I am getting in the pool. Guys, can you believe it? I’ve done it. I am in the water (don’t worry, I showered before getting in, the build-up of dry shampoo on my scalp and potential body odour has been dealt with – I was worried I’d change the colour of the water). 30 minutes of laps done and I’m feeling good about myself. I can do this. I will do this, go team Person C! Maybe I can get my brain onto my side for once.
I start the walk home, braless, but that my lucky stars I did remember pants. My good, positive mood is starting to dwindle. I don’t know why. Each step feels like I am going downhill a little (sadly, not literally as my legs are a little tired now). I stop via Sainsbury’s. This is a mistake. I knew it was going to be about 100 yards from the entrance. I pick up a spaghetti carbonara ready meal, 4 chocolate ring donuts, a packet of crisps and 2 ciders. Why? Why am I going to sabotage something that has just gone well? I get home and eat two donuts and then, drink the cider. I decide to, sensibly, put the ready meal in the freezer. I don’t need it. I am going to take this as a minor victory. I bought food I could have binged on but I am not going to.
I run a bath, add some amazing aromatherapy oils and sink in. The hair is taking on a life of its own, I am not entirely sure adding chlorine to the mix was wise but it’s too late now. I wash my hair and head to bed. I have a 1:1 psychologist appointment tomorrow morning and then I am heading out of London for a couple of nights for more baby and toddler therapy with Friends KH and RH.
All in all, today has proven that I can rectify days that go wrong. I don’t need to write them off if the morning doesn’t go as planned. Oh, and to top it off, whilst maintaining the crazy cat lady façade, look at the latest in my adult colouring repertoire!